dear ethical slut.
[image: taesang]
I think some part of me died off a year or two ago. I just don't feel like my former self - running off on tangents based on the most menial inspirations. I remember how amazingly therapeutic journaling was but now I really could care less.
I'll be turning 24 this year and can't help but think where the last 3 years went. My parents have even started to look at their watches. It's only now that I notice those deepening lines in their faces.
Perhaps I've been too nice. Too patient. Too non-assertive. I feel brittle and dry. Even these emotionless trysts... more for leisure activity to fill up my empty agenda of friends from a non-existent childhood (my secret envy).
It's like kissing women with mouths too small. I can't be sheltered or swallowed by their feminine charm.
Where do I want to be, I don't know. Where am I now? Seated too far back on a hard chair, thighs just sticking to the plastic - uncomfortable.
ho hum.
posted by Melba Toast @ 9:50 PM
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